Abe Vigoda’s Bloody Nipples

If you’ve run a road marathon, you’ve probably heard an encouraging word from a volunteer or spectator. These folk mean well. Full of enthusiasm and wholeheartedly devoted to your cause, they shout, “You’re almost there!” and “It’s right around the corner!” If you’re seriously lucky, they’ll boldly proclaim, “You look great!”

These are all lies.

You’re not almost there. The finish line is not right around the corner, and you look far, far from great.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate lusty support. But what if marathon fans couldn’t use standard catchphrases? What if they were restricted to the raw, brutal truth? If so, somewhere around mile 22, unsuspecting runners would find themselves absolutely blitzed by excessive honesty. Imagine the wide-ranging, rather bizarre cheers:

NAUSEATING
“You can keep that vomit down for another mile, I know it!”

CRUEL
“You have no chance of catching the senior citizen in front of you.”

OBLIGATORY
“You’re the only runner in sight. I offer half-hearted, token applause.”

SELF SERVING
“Hey sweatipotimus! Five dollars says you get a class-A dehydration cramp before the next aid station.”

CONDESCENDING
“From the comfort of my curbside lawn chair, it’s exceedingly easy for me to tell you to run faster.”

ALARMED
“We need an ambulance at mile 22, STAT!”

BLEAK
“The winner finished like, two hours ago.”

Now then Intrepid runner, wouldn’t you prefer lies? Who wants the truth when you’ve got four or five oppressive miles to go?

At least fans care enough to show support. Goodness knows they’ve probably got more constructive things to do. Most just don’t know any better. If they truly understood the unending, quasi-hallucinogenic misery of the last few miles of the marathon, they’d add subtle nuance to their spin doctoring. They’d avoid exaggeration altogether.

But, I don’t want that.

Fans, you keep right on telling me I look great. I know it’s a lie. You know it’s a lie. It will be our little secret, the proverbial elephant on the course. We’ll be as comfortable together as politicians and voters.

Beyond turning a deaf ear to alluring half truths, I have a practical solution. Fans, position yourselves after the 25-mile mark. Then you’ll be free to say whatever you please about distance. At that point, even the most morose, pessimistic runners will concede they’re “almost done.” Fans aren’t censored. Runners are too buoyant to care. Everyone wins.

Better yet, cheer during the final .2-mile stretch run. There, you’ll have carte blanche to say damn near anything to me. Nothing can offend when I can see the finish line. Call me Abe Vigoda. Insult my beatific grandmother. Heck, announce to the crowd that I heartily enjoy kicking puppies. Knock yourselves out.

5 Comments on “Abe Vigoda’s Bloody Nipples”

Dean, I agree all of the standard shouts of encouragement are not entirely true. And for now I’ll ignore if the cheering spectator with his BMI north of 30 has an actual intent to mislead or if they are obligated by marriage or heredity to lie to in this and other occasions. So my theory, or Einstein’s at least, is that it is merely relativity.

Maybe the shouting spectator is tailoring his comments not only to the past but to the future as well and using some kind of sliding scale? Take the big three ‘lies’

1) You are almost there.
Sure, you start hearing this as early as mile 15 and you have over 10 miles to go, which seems like a long way. But if you consider the marathon not to just be a 26.2 mile jaunt, but instead to be the nearly 500 miles most people put in to training to ultimately cross the finish line, well 10 measly miles *do* seem like you are almost there.

2) You look great.
Maybe the cheering spectator simply knows what is to come and when he sees you at mile 20 looking like crap he simply had expectations that you would look crappier? Case in point, when I received similar cheers last fall, maybe the spectator more than suspected I would end up after the finish line like a discarded rag doll about 50 yards past the finish laying prone with some drool in my beard and one testicle peaking out of my shorts (scaring small children, except the O’Leary kids, who thought it was funny). So by comparison, my sorry malnourished scarecrow look at mile 23 *did* look pretty good.

3) The finish is right around the corner.
Well this one is harder to justify so all I can imagine is that in most cases the finish is *around* the corner, and the next corner, and the next, and the several miles in between. But I don’t know if I can let one little adverb like “*right* around the corner” label the whole spectator as a perjurer. At best I would call it a half truth like you tell a child and then comfort yourself it was more true than false.

Dean,
what I have found, which is even worse, is the fact that the race officials see me coming a couple of miles out. At that point they decide to up and move the finish line another mile further out. Can’t figure out why they do that, don’t they know I am tired!!!
julie

We tell ourselves similar lies throughout the race. “Only a 5-K to go? No problem.” I prefer the spectators help me in my self-deception campaign. After the two-thirds mark, as Tom Waits sings, I have no use for the truth. You GOT to lie to me, baby. Cheers!

I’ve noticed a trend in homemade signs that combine honesty with motivation – “you feel like %!$& because you are awesome” or “my feet would hurt if they had to run that far” or “I’d rather be holding this sign”. I’ve grown to enjoy these moments of truth amongst the “lookin’ goods”. To motivate my friends I have become some sort of helpful doomsday crier, holding a “the end is near sign” about 400 metres from the finish line. My sign is typically met with (a) laughter or (b) a desperate chorus of you better not be messing with me.